


Honour and Action

by ineptshieldmaid



Series: Men of Honour [5]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C.S. Lewis, Voyage of the Dawn Treader - C.S. Lewis
Genre: M/M, because i thought i was writing consensual-but-realisistic, because i wrote it before the AO3 was a thing, i did not put tags on this, it's possible it needs a dubcon tag, tags added 2017, which is disturbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-18
Updated: 2008-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still on the Lone Islands, Caspian is overwhelmed by the implications of his relationship with Edmund the Just</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honour and Action

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mase992](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mase992), [xxlucyferxx](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=xxlucyferxx).



> I have chosen not to use archive warnings for my Narnia fic, because the ages and maturity levels of characters in Narnia don't map neatly onto our concepts of "underage" and "of age".
> 
> You can find an explanation of my policy re: age of consent in fiction [here](http://ineptshieldmaid.dreamwidth.org/189551.html). This series explores issues of age and maturity in relation to sex and other relationships. I do not believe that the sexual relationship in this series exploits age related power disparities.
> 
> Please note: one of the sexual encounters in this fic, while consensual, features a high level of pain during first-time penetrative sex.

Caspian looked up and found Edmund leaning against the back of his chair, reading over Caspian's shoulder. Caspian glared at him. He'd thought Edmund and Lucy would both be occupied with more fittings for their new clothes- Lucy was having great fun explaining to the tailors of the Lone Islands all the new 'Narnian' fashions which involved the Queen wearing an over-sized man's tunic. Edmund, by the looks of things, had found an outfit that fitted him (suited him rather well, Caspian thought: the cut was simpler than Caspian's own clothes, the shirt sleeves fitting tightly to his arms in a manner that would be laughable on a more muscular man, and the tunic cut short to show off long, lean legs in soft hose), and, now dressed, left the tailors to Lucy's tender mercies. Caspian wondered uncharitably why Edmund couldn't have been a more vain man- there were plenty of women, and probably men, too, on the Lone Islands who would be eager to curry favour with King Edmund of the Woods, seeing the benefits of befriending King Caspian's nearest rival. Instead, Edmund had spent the past several days lurking around in the background, watching Caspian. Caspian wasn't sure if he preferred it when Edmund was openly critical, or when Edmund, as he was doing now, stood there silently and left Caspian to imagine all the criticisms he could be offering.

'You do know that's rude, don't you?' Caspian demanded, as Edmund showed no signs of moving from his position at Caspian's shoulder.

Edmund ignored him, and tucked his thumbs into the belt of his new tunic. 'You can't do that-' he pointed at the scrolls and ledgers spread across the table, and the neat list in Caspian's own hand. 'Tribute hasn't been exacted here since-' he peered at the ancient hands Caspian had been struggling with '- about fifty years after _our_ time, by the looks of it. You can't just demand the ancient tribute.'

Caspian snorted. 'I'm not asking for back-payments, if that's what you mean.'

Edmund snatched up the slate Caspian had been working on. 'No, I'm talking about this: _We, King Caspian X of Narnia etc, hereby instruct that the Lord Bern, our Governor on the Lone Islands, and his successors, shall undertake to deliver to the King of Narnia the ancient and customary tribute of these islands, being: one ship's load of fine goat's wool, carded and spun; in addition, five barrels of pressed olive oil or wine, from each vineyard on these islands which is two acres in size, and proportionate in olive oil and wine from each vineyard on these islands which is smaller or larger than two acres in size... _etc and so on, and this: _We also instruct that the customary rights of the Kingdom of Narnia be re-established with regard to the produce of the Lone Islands, being: that for every market held on these islands, the Governor of the Lone Islands shall surrender one-third's portion of the tax upon foreign merchants to the King of Narnia; secondly, that the ships of Narnia shall have free passage of these islands; and thirdly, that the farmers and merchants of this island who deal in pearls and in the substance known as mother-of-pearl shall undertake to sell these items nowhere but on these islands and in the Kingdom of Narnia._'

Caspian stared at him. 'And? The merchants of the Lone Islands will have free passage to the markets of Narnia, and those pearls will bring traders from every nation in the _world_ to our doorstep. The ancient agreements are excellent for both countries- if I can read this properly, _your sister_ devised them. Your problem is what, exactly?'

Edmund slammed the slate down. 'Susan spent _ten months_ working on that treaty! She had every significant nobleman of the Islands out to Cair Paravel, and she and I came out here for two months straight. You don't just waltz in and reconquer a country and then waltz back out again leaving a list of demands behind you without so much as a by-your-leave. You'll disrupt all their existing trade agreements; anger their farmers; and on top of all that, you want them to sell their most precious resource _exclusively_ in Narnia!' He leaned one hand on the table and one on the chair, forcing Caspian to lean back to look up at him. 'It took Susan eight months to get the Lone Islands to agree to that clause- eight months, she nearly ran us bankrupt that year with state functions and diplomatic gifts; we must have bought out all the wine in Archenland, and I have no idea how many people Susan had to seduce along the way. We _already_ had merchants from all over the world at our fairs, because Susan had spent six months the _previous_ year arranging exclusive trade agreements with respect to Archen silver! You don't even have a central fair in Narnia at the moment- I know, I asked Drinian. Telmarine Narnia is the back end of the world, Caspian, and you're coming in here and telling these people they have to cut off their most valuable trading partners for the benefit of a king they haven't heard from in over a thousand years. _That's_ going to go down well, isn't it?'

'Edmund-' Caspian stood up, and taking Edmund by the shoulders, forced him to step back. 'Try to remember that I'm not an imbecile. And that I haven't finished my list. I have every intention of offering the Lone Islands adequate economic incentives in return for Narnia's exclusive privileges. As it happens, I am meeting with Lord Bern again shortly to negotiate a mutually beneficial situation.' He scooped up the slate and the ledgers on the top of the pile, turning his back on Edmund, who muttered something about Lord Bern not being a native Lone Islander, and the likelihood that Caspian would endanger Bern's position by making harsh royal demands.

~

Caspian and Lucy dined in private that night with Lord Bern and his daughter. Edmund was not invited- he, Drinian and Rhince had been invited to dine with the commander of the Islander Guard, but, as Lucy informed Caspian from behind a changing screen, Edmund was nowhere to be found that evening. Caspian laced up the back of Lucy's new dress for her (they had decided against requesting maids and footmen, on the principle that the fewer people were in their rooms, the fewer people would wonder about King Caspian's marriage), and supposed that Edmund could hardly go far or get into much trouble. Lucy twinkled up at him and passed him a handful of hairpins.

'You could give Ed something to do, you know,' she suggested, as he carefully pinned up the braids she twisted about her head. 'He never could stand boredom, and it's worse here because he always ends up babysitting Eustace.'

Caspian snorted, nearly stabbing Lucy with a pin. 'Why can't he do whatever it is _you're_ doing, then?' He stopped suddenly and stared down at her. 'What _are_ you doing, aside from having new dresses run up?'

Lucy rolled her eyes at him and grabbed at the hairpin. 'Here, give me that. Boys. You'd think with the amount of time _you_ spend primping, you'd be able to put hairpins in without injuring people.' She passed Caspian a comb and made a vague motion that suggested he was to get on with his 'primping'. Caspian did so, pulling half his hair back into a plait, and carefully combing the rest out over his shoulders in fine golden curls. Lucy poked hairpins into her hair with great speed and apparently at random, but when she turned back around to face him, her hair sat in a neat braided crown around her head. 'As for what I've been _doing_,' she sniffed suspiciously at a flask of perfume, before dabbing it on her neck. Caspian suspect it was _men's_ perfume, but decided against telling her so. 'I've been talking to people. Kissing babies, that sort of thing.'

'Kissing babies?' Caspian raised an eyebrow at her. Girls did like babies, he knew, but Lucy announced the fact of kissing them as if it was an activity of great significance.

'One, actually. Lord Bern's youngest nephew by marriage. I spent the afternoon with his daughter- her late mother was from the oldest family in these Islands, did you know? I wouldn't suggest you marry her yourself: quite apart from already having a wife-' she grinned and passed him his sword-belt, 'you've no sons or brothers, so your own marriage is politically crucial. You have a good hold on the Lone Islands already; save your marriage for a more volatile situation.'

Caspian blinked. 'You're suggesting...'

Lucy raised one eyebrow. 'Marry someone you don't love? Maybe someone you don't like? Marry someone to cement a valuable alliance?'

Caspian resisted the urge to ruffle her carefully pinned hair. 'Girls your age shouldn't sound like my most cynical advisors, Lu!'

Lucy tilted her head on one side. 'If you want me to be _cynical_, I could point out that there's a lot to be said for never marrying and always letting people think you _might_. That was Susan's trick, and Peter's at times. We had each other, though. _You_ have a young cousin who, if you don't have an heir yourself before he can lift a sword, will attract conspirators like moths to a candle. No, Caspian,' here, she tucked her arm into his and towed him toward the door. 'Loving other people- marriage and sex and all that- makes wonderful stories, but we'll always love Narnia first.' Caspian wondered if by 'we' she meant herself and her siblings, or he and her, or perhaps all five of them. Then he wondered how long the Pevensies would stay with him this time. It would be interesting to try to explain to the Lone Islanders that Queen Lucy wasn't his wife after all.

~

When he and Lucy returned to their rooms- Lucy tripping and giggling all the way up the corridor, and Caspian himself not entirely sober- Edmund was still nowhere in evidence. They drank the chamomile tea that had been set out for them, and as they finished the pot, Drinian and Rhince could be heard returning to their rooms at the far end of the corridor. Still no sign of Edmund, and Lucy was nodding off in her chair. Caspian poured her water and administered it, over her protests, with a lecture about the sore head she would have in the morning.

'Lu?' he peered down at her, and she forced herself to straighten up and focus on him. 'What are we going to do about Ed? I can't exactly bolt him out of his own room, but if anyone finds me in there...'

'Stay with me?' Lucy shrugged. 'I promise I won't besmirch your honour.'

'Edmund would kill me,' Caspian shook his head. He might not have cared, if it weren't for- well, if it weren't for the way things were with Edmund. Edmund scrutinised and criticised him all day, and at night they would fight and then make- well, not love, Caspian decided. _Honour_. Caspian would make _honour_ to Edmund, because he was Edmund the Just, and if Edmund was always judging him and finding him wanting by day, then by night Caspian could have him warm and content in his arms and that was the only way King Edmund trusted him.

Caspian drifted out of his reverie to see that Lucy was scribbling something on the slate he had been using earlier that day. He peered at it, and wondered if she was really too drunk to write. Lucy gave him a bright grin, and set the slate squarely on the table, facing the door, and set a candle above it.

'It's Latin,' she explained. 'It says "the door is locked but not bolted", or it should. It might say "my armadillo has escaped", knowing my luck.' She studied the slate for a moment. "Or, more likely, "locked but not bolt to the door". I'm not very good at Latin at school, and they don't give us wine first there. Anyway, Ed will understand, we used to do this sort of thing when we needed to pass private messages, back in our day. I didn't even know any Latin back then, Ed and Susan taught me bits and Ed always said if I got the declensions wrong it'd confuse anyone trying to break our code.'

Caspian locked the door and left it unbolted, and it wasn't until he was in bed that it occurred to him that he would still have to get up to unlock the door when- if- Edmund finally came home. He lay in the big bed and tried to believe his melancholy was all a result of the night's drinking, and nothing to do with days of snipping at Edmund, or the absence of a lanky body sprawled across him. Edmund awake held himself so tightly together: he could sink into a corner and not be noticed for hours; he could follow at the back of a group and no one but Caspian, who felt Edmund's eyes measuring him at every step, would pay him any notice at all. In sleep, and in sex, he seemed to take up all the space in the bed. He slept spreadeagled, his head on Caspian's arm, one arm flung across Caspian's body and one leg tucked between Caspian's own. He let all his control fall when Caspian touched him- they fought and Edmund would have won every night, but Caspian had only to catch Edmund off-guard, to put his arms around him and rest his forehead against Edmund's, and Edmund would continue saying whatever he'd been saying, but the fight would go out of him. The hard edge of his sarcasm would turn teasing, and Caspian could _feel_ the tension disappear from the younger boy's body. Caspian would tease back, and there would be something like comradeship between them for a while, until Caspian tightened his arms around Edmund and Edmund melted into him and turned his face up to be kissed. After that, there would be heat and desire and Edmund spread out on the bed before him, all his prudence and careful consideration shucked aside with his clothes, clutching at Caspian and kissing him hungrily.

_Edmund the Just_. The name kept looping over and over again through his mind. When he had Edmund in his mouth that first night, he had looked up and could not see Edmund's face at all, only his chest rising and falling with gasped breath, and his hands scrabbling at the bedding for purchase, and it had hit him then: this was _Edmund the Just_. He, Caspian the Tenth, a _Telmarine_, by all that was ancient, this was him, here, and he had his lips around _Edmund the Just_, could taste him on his tongue, and that scent he breathed in, that was the very private scent of _Edmund the Just_. He'd dug his nails into Edmund's hips to steady himself and taken a great deep breath, tried to lose himself in the scent of Edmund, suddenly aware that he was painfully hard. Then Edmund had thrust up against his hands and Caspian was moaning, half in shock and half in want as Edmund came in his mouth, and he might have been muttering 'Edmund the Just' around the boy's cock, but he couldn't make out the words himself and Edmund was in no state to be listening. Afterwards he'd scooped Edmund up and curled up with him in the bed, pushing the other's hand away from his cock, because although he was hard and Edmund was beautiful, all dishevelled and spent, the words _Edmund the Just_ were circling around and around in Caspian's head and he couldn't quite believe what he'd just done. And so he'd lain beside Edmund, holding his hands and not daring to take him into his arms, and he'd been looking at Edmund and Edmund had been looking at him, his eyes heavy with sleep and his face set in a little smile of contentment and trust.

Every night since then (had there really only been two of them?), Caspian had done his best to get that look back, tried to do Edmund the honour he deserved, had striven with hands and lips and tongue to deserve that trust. Not that Edmund was grudging with his trust- not in bed, at least. Perhaps it was the sharp contrast between guarded, critical Edmund of daylight hours and this exposed, gentle Edmund he had by night that unnerved him so. Perhaps it was the _continuities_: the way Edmund carefully noted and copied the ways Caspian touched him, the way Edmund paid careful attention to Caspian's reactions and stored all of his weak points away for further reference. Perhaps it was the fact that it was undeniably the same Edmund whom Caspian took to bed each night as the Edmund who watched him like a hawk by day that aroused him, at yet terrified him. On the second night, Edmund had taken Caspian into his mouth, and Caspian had stared down into Edmund's face and shaken with desire and fear. He had tried to put Edmund off, tried to stop him, asked him to use his hands instead, but Edmund had insisted that he wanted to try, and Caspian could find no way to explain his refusal. And so he had sat on the edge of the bed and his skin had burnt under Edmund's touch and his face had burnt with shame, because Edmund the Just should not be kneeling before _him_. Edmund had stroked and licked and sucked carefully, experimentally, and had looked up at Caspian to gauge his reactions, and his forehead had creased and he'd pulled away to ask 'is this alright?', because Caspian had his hands clenched on the edge of the bed and was neither moving nor making a sound. And Caspian had managed to nod sharply, once, and whimpered as Edmund's lips slid over him again, because _gods _it was good, but there was Edmund, his eyes wide and dark and Caspian dared not move lest he hurt him, lest he somehow lose whatever it was he'd done to deserve this.

On the third night Edmund had asked him if he wanted to- and here, Caspian cut his thoughts short, because he really _couldn't_ think about that, couldn't think that Edmund had asked him- well, he couldn't. Not to Edmund. He couldn't possibly have deserved even to be _asked_ that, had shied away from Edmund in shock and stammered out no, no, he couldn't, and thankfully this time Edmund hadn't asked again. And if he was lying in Edmund's bed now, with the smell of himself and Edmund together (so different from the smell of either of them apart) thick in the sheets around him, if he was whimpering to himself and if he had his cock in his hand and was thrusting into his fist and _not thinking about it_, well, that was to his shame because it was _unthinkable_ and even not thinking about it terrified him and quite definitely shouldn't have him desperate with desire like this.

Caspian comes with an anguished moan and curls in on himself, sinking into sleep, where his thoughts cannot betray him.

~

He wakes to find arms wrapped around him and a warm weight draped against his back. Caspian stirs, and cuddles deeper into Edmund's embrace before he has the consciousness to wonder how Edmund got in, or how long he's been there. Perhaps his movement wakes Edmund, or perhaps Edmund is not yet asleep, because he laughs low in his throat and Caspian feels Edmund's breath warm on his shoulder-blades.

'Perhaps we should set sentries on the door,' Edmund chuckles, and kisses the skin of Caspian's back. 'Your Majesty would sleep through a revolution.' Caspian registers sleepy relief- Edmund is here, Edmund is no longer angry with him- and makes small contented noises. Edmund continues kissing the skin of Caspian's back, working his way up to Caspian's neck.

Caspian remembers the lock on the door, and turns his head blearily in Edmund's direction. 'How'd you...'

Edmund laughs again, his breath tickling the hair on Caspian's neck, and answers: 'Lock picks. First thing I laid hands on when we got here.' Then his lips find the sensitive spot at the side of Caspian's neck and he nips at it with his teeth, and Caspian shudders and leans back against Edmund and realises that Edmund is already hard, pressed against the small of Caspian's back. Edmund's hands are skimming over his chest, pausing to tweak first one nipple and then the other. One hand glides over Caspian's hip and splays out over his arse, the other strokes his stomach, and Edmund's lips are still moving up his neck, kissing and licking and biting gently. Caspian's breath is coming short and fast, and Edmund's hands make him quiver deliciously and then Edmund is nipping at his earlobe and he shudders again, long and hard. Caspian turns himself over so that he can _see_ Edmund, so that he can have his hands on him and kiss him- kiss him hard and demanding, run his nails up Edmund's sides and make him buck underneath him, press his body against Edmund's so that he can feel Edmund hard against him. Edmund kisses him back, moans as Caspian runs his nails over his skin, and then bites down hard on Caspian's lower lip. Caspian gasps in shock and pulls back, and Edmund takes the opportunity to lever him sideways and splay him out on his back. Straddling him, Edmund takes Caspian's hands and kisses the palms, begins to lick the fingers of Caspian's right hand. He chuckles again when he tastes the salty crust left there, and licks at it with obscene enthusiasm.

'Been busy?' he asks, and Caspian can hear the wicked grin in his voice, and is glad Edmund can't see his face in the dark, because it's burning up right now. But perhaps Edmund can, because he sucks on Caspian's middle finger and then asks, 'Nice thoughts?' Caspian's response is something along the lines of 'Nglk,' and Edmund chuckles again and leans down to lick carefully around Caspian's left nipple. 'Not going to share?' Edmund flicks his tongue over the nipple and Caspian wonders if he _knows, _and it's all too much and he flips Edmund back over onto his back and kisses him to shut him up, winds his hand in Edmund's short hair and nips and Edmund's ears with lips and teeth. Edmund wriggles and moans and Caspian leans to one side so that he can slide one hand down Edmund's body and draw his fingers up the length of Edmund's cock. Edmund reaches up to touch him, to rest a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly he is pushing Caspian back down again, bringing all the force of his body against him when Caspian isn't expecting it, pushing him flat onto his back and dragging his arms up over his head.

'Fuck it, Caspian,' Edmund straddles Caspian's torso and holds his arms down. 'Let me _do_ something, would you?' Caspian can feel his eyes wide, and if Edmund hadn't licked his hands clean earlier, he would never have known Caspian had spent himself earlier that night, because Edmund is holding him down and he's _hard. _Caspian struggles a bit, tries to separate his wrists where Edmund holds them together, but Edmund leans forward and pins him and snarls into his ear,

'Move again and I'll _tie_ you down.' Caspian chokes out something incoherent, and Edmund licks his ear and laughs again. 'I'd do it, too. Remind me to tell you sometime about the _first_ Telmarine I tied up. Chained, if I recall correctly.'

At _that_ Caspian goes still from shock and splutters- more or less intelligibly, this time- 'you _what?_' And Edmund just laughs his infuriating laugh and nips at Caspian's neck again.

'You'd be surprised at the things a man has to do for Narnia,' Edmund informs him, letting go of his wrists and wriggling ungracefully backwards until he is straddling Caspian's hips, and then Caspian loses track of Edmund's lips and hands and his skin is on fire and he's whimpering as Edmund kisses and licks and strokes and bites. Everything is too light, he wants to make Edmund do it all again, harder: he debates moving, considers how easy it would be to flip them back over again, wonders if Edmund really would follow through on his threat, and just the thought of that is enough to render him motionless and make him whimper under Edmund's attentions.

Then Edmund is grazing the skin of Caspian's inner thighs with his nails, and kissing the skin just below his belly button. Caspian thrusts his hips upwards, and Edmund pushes him back down. Thrust, push, thrust, push, and then Edmund drags his nail up Caspian's shaft and Caspian throws his head back with a high, keening whine. Edmund chuckles again, and repeats the process. He leans down and kisses the crease of Caspian's thigh, kisses all the way down it and back up the other, and Caspian thrusts upwards again and is shoved back into the mattress. Edmund licks the very tip of Caspian's cock and then takes his mouth away again, moving to kiss his stomach instead.

'Edmund, _please_,' Caspian is begging, for the first time thinking more about what he wants than what he deserves. He brings his hands down and winds them in Edmund's hair, and begs again, '_please_.'

Edmund shakes his head sharply and Caspian lets go, his belly filling with apprehension and anticipation as Edmund sits up and, taking Caspian's hands, slams them back down at his sides. Then Edmund is climbing off the bed and Caspian hasn't decided whether he should apologise, beg him not to, when Edmund stops and looks down at him, a dark shape beside the bed.

'Unfortunately,' he says dryly, 'I don't have any ropes, and the silly belts that are fashionable at the moment are too wide and stiff for the job.'

He turns and fumbles around on the night stand, and comes back with something in his hand that he puts down on the bed, just out of Caspian's reach. He leans over and kisses Caspian softly, teasing and fluttering his lips over Caspian's at first, and then he sinks down beside Caspian, runs his hand down to twirl a nipple with his finger, and sinks into the kiss with a sigh. Caspian risks capturing Edmund's lower lip with his teeth, nibbles gently, and is rewarded with a tiny moan. Then Edmund is moving down his body again, kissing his collarbone and flicking his tongue over Caspian's nipples. His hand finds Caspian's cock and Caspian lets out his breath in a rush, arching his back and hissing 'yessss...', but all too soon the hand is gone again, moved down to cup and fondle his balls in a way that is far from unpleasant, but not enough for Caspian right now, not when he wants Edmund's hands and mouth on his cock, wants to writhe under Edmund's hands as Edmund does under his. He begs again, and Edmund chuckles again, and tells him, in an infuriatingly calm voice, that patience is a virtue. Then Edmund's other hand is sliding below where his right cups Caspian's balls, and finds something, a sensitive spot that surely shouldn't be _there_, and Caspian says 'Nglk' again when Edmund draws back and orders him to turn over.

On his stomach, Caspian can't see what Edmund is doing, can't see what he's fumbling for beside him, and his stomach clenches in what is definitely fear this time. Perhaps Edmund can tell, because he rests his hand in the small of Caspian's back and murmurs something reassuring, and Caspian is just starting to relax when Edmund suggests that he should probably hold onto the bedpost. Caspian grasps hold of the post in front of him, but this doesn't exactly make him feel any better about the situation. He can hear a stopper pulled out of a flask, and Edmund is talking, almost conversationally:

'The olive oil of the Lone Islands, as you know,' he says, 'is the finest in this part of the world. It is is rarely used in ordinary cooking, but reserved for fine salads and sauces.'

'Is this,' Caspian grits his teeth, 'the time for a lecture on trade goods?'

'One should always be ready to learn new things about one's allies,' Edmund informs him, 'and about their trade wares. For example, the olive oil of the Lone Islands is also widely considered to be of great benefit to the skin, and is often used in luxury moisturising and cleansing oils.' Edmund has the oil on his hands, Caspian realises, as he lays his palms on the small of Caspian's back and begins to rub them in circles. It really is rather soothing, and Caspian relaxes into the mattress and lets himself think, for a moment, that this is all Edmund intends. Then Edmund is applying the oil to his hands again, and this time he moves lower, and Caspian whimpers into the pillow. Edmund doesn't bother to shush him, but presses his thumb to the sensitive place he'd found before, and then before Caspian has time to tense up, he has one finger inside of him and _gods_ it hurts, Caspian bites down on the pillow and clenches his eyes shut as Edmund stretches him, first one finger and then two, then three, _gods_, do people really do this for fun?

'Get up on your knees,' Edmund orders, and Caspian whimpers and says 'No, no,' over and over again. Edmund twists his fingers and it _hurts_ but he finds something that makes Caspian gasp over the pain.

'Get up on your knees,' Edmund says again, steadying Caspian's hip with his hand. 'It'll help.' Caspian scrambles up so that he's balanced on knees and elbows, legs spread and still clutching the bedpost for dear life. Then Edmund slides his arm around to take Caspian in hand, and runs his thumb over the head of Caspian's cock at the same time as he twists his fingers and pushes deeper inside, and that's better, it hurts but it's better, it hurts but he thrusts down into Edmund's hand, and Edmund takes his hands- both of them- away again. There is the sound of the stopper coming off again, and wet slick sounds that Caspian supposes are Edmund applying oil to himself, and then Edmund's fingers are pushing inside of him and _gods_ it hurts all over again. Edmund gentles him with his other hand and whispers 'it's alright, it's alright,' until there are three fingers inside again, and then he pulls them out quickly and pushes himself inside. Just a little, just a short thrust, and it burns and Caspian sees red and tries to scramble forward, but Edmund has him by the hips, slides his oil-slick hand down and wraps it around Caspian's shaft again, and the cool wetness is a balance to the burning in his arse as Edmund pushes further in, tiny incremental thrusts accompanied by long slow strokes. Eventually Caspian becomes aware that Edmund's hips are pressed against his arse, and that Edmund is not moving anymore, but leaning against him and whispering 'oh, Birds and Beasts, Caspian, Caspian.'

'Edmund?' Caspian asks, because Edmund still isn't moving, surely he should be moving by now?

'Yes?'

'Are you alright?'

'Are you?'

Caspian snorts, because suddenly Edmund sounds very young again, and however he'd learnt to do what he'd just done, the lesson clearly didn't include what do do past this point. 'Hurts', Caspian says. 'But I can take it.'

Edmund shifts slightly against him and Caspian groans, his muscles having clenched up around Edmund's motionless shaft. 'You'll tell me if it's too much, won't you?' Edmund asks, sliding his slick hand up Caspian's cock again, and Caspian pushes back against him and grinds out,

'Yes. Now _move_.' Edmund moves, slowly at first but Caspian can tell his control is fraying, and Caspian's vision goes red with pain and he thrusts back against Edmund because _gods_ it hurts and if he has to hurt he's not going to lie still and take it, and there's something good under all the pain, something that he might just catch if he moves fast enough, might pin down if Edmund moves _hard_ enough. Edmund's hand falls away from Caspian's shaft and he's gripping him tightly by the waist and babbling something Caspian can't understand, but then Edmund's hitting something inside of him and Caspian is muttering garbled curses. Edmund comes and Caspian can _feel_ it, feel him twitching for what seems like eternity, and then they both fall bonelessly to the mattress.

Edmund pulls out of him, and Caspian swears because that hurts too. Then it hits him just how much it all hurt, and what they just did and that was _Edmund the Just_, and he curls in on himself and shakes a little. Edmund pulls the sheets back over them and wraps his arms around Caspian and makes soothing noises. He kisses Caspian's forehead and then his eyes and then his lips, and Caspian kisses him back, kisses him hard and sloppily because kisses mean he doesn't have to think anymore. Edmund slides his hand down to Caspian's cock again, and Caspian remembers that he's still hard, and he thrusts into Edmund's hand and kisses Edmund hard again. It is the work of a few slick and ungraceful moments before Caspian comes into Edmund's hand and slumps into the boy's arms. Edmund carefully wipes his hand on the sheet and tucks his arms around Caspian before they both collapse into sleep.

~

Caspian wakes for a second time- it can't have been long after- as Edmund is trying to shift Caspian off his body. Caspian blinks at him and says 'what?' Edmund gives him a shove and informs him that Caspian is several years the elder here, and he's _heavy_, so he should move, dammit. Caspian laughs quietly and rolls onto his back. Edmund drapes himself out next to Caspian in his usual position and pillows his head on Caspian's arm.

'Where were you tonight?' Caspian asks, running his hand through Edmund's short hair.

'Me?'

'No, one of the five other people in the room,' Caspian snaps, and is rewarded with Edmund's sudden snap to alertness, before he realises Caspian is joking. He uses his new-found wakefulness to deliver to Caspian a punch in the ribs.

'I had dinner with Eustace,' Edmund says at last. 'He's a wet blanket, but I feel bad that we're all leaving him out of everything.'

'I hadn't noticed him _wanting_ to do anything with us,' Caspian says dryly, and Edmund shrugs and says no more.

'You were with Eustace all night?'

'Not that it's any of your business, but no. I went down to the beach. I like beaches. I used to go down to the shore at Cair Paravel whenever I had to get away to think,' Edmund says, and then adds: 'Lucy will tell you I went to the beach whenever I wanted to sulk.'

Caspian ruffles Edmund's hair with his hand. 'I see. And what were you thinking about tonight?'

Edmund digs his elbow into Caspian's ribs, and declares this to be none of Caspian's business. 'Besides,' he says slyly, 'you won't tell me what _you_ were thinking tonight.'

Even after what they've just done, Caspian feels his face go red and his belly knots with fear and shame. He buries his face in Edmund's hair and orders Edmund to shut up. Thankfully, Edmund does.

~

The next morning, Caspian decided to follow Lucy's advice and give Edmund something to do. With a great effort, he kept his face straight while informing Edmund that, following Edmund's own suggestions, the ancient tribute due from the Lone Islands had been greatly reduced, but that the olive oil of the Lone Islands was the finest in this part of the world, and he, Edmund, was to spend the day touring the olive groves in the immediate vicinity, and he was to negotiate a private royal contract with a superior olive grower to replace some of the quantity of oil which Caspian would not be recieving in tribute.

Edmund, admirably, kept his face straight throughout Caspian's speech, and accepted his task solemnly. As Edmund made his way out of their sitting room, Lucy gave Caspian an approving smile. When Caspian fell apart laughing on the couch, Lucy gave him a grin that was entirely too knowing for a girl of her age, and then she _winked _at him on her way out the door.


End file.
